


invisible ties

by Wahmenitu



Series: dimension [9]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: But he is not featured, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Matt is tagged bc this is technically Team Red, idk man this is a little close to home for lil ol moi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wahmenitu/pseuds/Wahmenitu
Summary: He let the water soak through his suit, and he didn't move an inch, because it didn't fucking matter.The only thing that fucking mattered was that Peter Parker was dead.Peter Parker had died and he hadn't fucking been there.What was he going to tell Ellie?(Set in the dimension verse.)
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Series: dimension [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550974
Comments: 25
Kudos: 302





	invisible ties

**Author's Note:**

> everyone pls thank wallywilly for this prompt and for the future suffering
> 
> but actually, I planned a lot of this out. this is a little close to home for me so if this is hard for anyone to read i am sorry!!!
> 
> other news: i have discovered that I am allergic to strawberries. who knew

He landed with a clatter on the fire escape outside of his apartment.

Usually, he was quiet about it. Silent. But who fuckin' cared. Let the neighbors call the cops if they wanted. It didn't fucking matter.

Usually, he picked the lock on his window, or left it open.

This time, Wade put his fist through the glass. He unlocked it from the inside, and wrenched the window open. Didn't glance at the blood that dripped through his suit. Didn't give a thought to the glass in his hand.

It didn't fucking matter.

He dripped blood across the apartment as he made his way towards his bathroom. There was already blood on his floor boards from countless other instances. Some was his. Some was Red's. Some was Spidey's.

What was a little more?

He twisted the knob on the shower with his uninjured hand. Only stripped the swords from his back before he was collapsing sideways into the tub. Twisted his head to watch his blood mix with the water. Watched it swirl in pinks and reds down the drain.

He let the water soak through his suit, and he didn't move an inch, because it didn't fucking matter.

The only thing that fucking mattered was that Peter Parker was dead.

Peter Parker had died and he _hadn't fucking been there._

Peter fucking Parker, champion of "the little guy" and friendly neighborhood hero, had died alone in a pile of rubble.

He had died alone. Probably scared. Probably terrified.

No, you know fucking what?

That asshole hadn't given a second thought to himself when he died. Wade knew that. It had to be _fact_. Because that was the kind of guy he was.

No, he had died alone, covered in rubble, worrying about who was going to be hurt the most. Worried about his aunt, alone in her home in Queens, waiting for his nightly call. Worried about his wife, sitting at home and waiting for Peter to clamber through the window. Or for Wade to haul Peter through the window. Or for Red to drag himself in and let her know that Peter was at one of their houses, recovering, but okay.

Worrying about Red, who was barely enhanced, who didn't have their healing factor.

Worried about Wade, and his voices and what they might be telling him on any given night.

Worried about everyone but himself, who was dying alone in a pile of rubble.

Worried about- oh _shit._

Worried about _Ellie._

Fuck, he had Ellie in two fucking days. He had his daughter in two fucking days and Peter had promised Ellie the last time she was around that he'd be over to make nasty slime with her.

_Fuck._

What was he going to tell Ellie?

He spent twelve hours in the shower, letting the water soak and pool under him. By then, his hand had healed. The glass pushed out of his skin by his healing factor. By the time he'd hauled himself out of the tub and stripped out of his suit, he'd had his mind set.

He needed to figure out how to tell a four year old that her uncle was dead.

As with most questions in life, Wade turned to Google.

It was.

Actually very helpful.

All he'd had to go on was other awkward encounters in his life. Parents telling stilted, uncomfortable stories about the deaths of loved ones to kids.

Apparently?

A lot of them did it wrong??

You weren't supposed to say things like "they've gone to sleep forever" or "they're in a better place."

You were supposed to be brief. Answer their questions.

Your kid was gonna be angry. Upset and sad and guilty.

And, worst of all?

You were supposed to be open and honest about your own emotions with them.

Ugh.

Not that Wade had any trouble recognizing what he was feeling.

He was pissed off. He was upset. He should have fucking _been with him._

But Peter was dead. He understood that more than anyone right now. How many people had he lost, at this point?

Too many.

But he could fucking do this. He needed to do this and he needed to do it right.

Peter would have wanted him to do this right.

Vanessa would have wanted him to do this right.

"Peter doesn't want to see me anymore?"

Fuck.

"It's not like that, baby girl," Wade crouched beside her. "Come on, honey. Let's talk."

Ellie sniffed hard, but she took his hand. Let him lead her to the couch.

She's been there for an hour before asking about Peter. Even her social worker knew. Susan's normally bright, bubbly cooing was gone, replaced with a somber look. She'd passed Ellie's bag to him, and had looked up. There weren't many people willing to look Deadpool in the face.

But she had. And she'd actually reached out. She had reached out and touched his shoulder and squeezed it. And whispered an "I'm sorry," before she had gone. Leaving him with a dead friend and a kid who didn't know about said dead friend.

"Baby, Peter didn't just leave. He died. Your uncle is dead."

Ellie squirmed on his lap, looking up at him, one little hand twisted in his shirt.

"How?"

Ughhhhhh.

"I don't know," he hated to admit it. And he _didn't_ know. But he would. Soon. "I don't know how it happened, baby, but it happened."

"Are you sad?"

Ugh. The dreaded question. And her voice was so small. Ellie had been nothing but 100% all day every day that he had her since he met her. And this shit? This shit was not okay.

But he could do this. For Peter and for Vanessa.

Wade blew out a breath, gathered Ellie close to him. Tucked her little head into his shoulder. Gave a tug to her little ponytail.

"Yeah, Ells," he replied, "I'm fucking sad."

Ellie sniffed against his shoulder, and he felt his throat go tight.

And then he was fucking crying.

And Ellie was fucking crying. He could feel the heat of her tears and snot against his t-shirt.

He'd seen Ellie cry. Seen her wail and scream and rage against things that were beyond even his logic.

But this? This was different.

This was grief.

This was pure grief, driven by the simple understanding that none of this was fucking fair. At all.

It wasn't fair that someone like Peter Parker, who spent his entire life trying to help other people, was dead. It wasn't fair that someone who gave all of their time to other people had no one with him when he died. It wasn't fair that a fucking _good person_ was dead and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

There was no one to blame, yet. There was no one for Wade to wail and rage and scream against until a little bit of the pain was gone.

There was only a father and a daughter, buried in their grief for their friend.

"It's not fair," Ellie whimpered against his shoulder.

He knew, honey. He knew.

Ellie stayed wrapped up in his arms for nearly an hour, and when she drew back to wipe her eyes, he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"I read something," he began as he stood. Kept her in his arms as he went to dig through a drawer and pull out her crayons and construction paper. "I ain't no artist, baby girl. Think you can draw a picture of him for me?"

Kids, apparently, needed a concrete way to memorialize the dead.

They needed something tangible to see and hold.

So while Ellie drew her picture, Wade scrolled through some of the last conversations he'd had with Peter. Found the movie he'd promised to watch with Ellie in writing. Brought it up on his totally, legally acquired Netflix.

Ellie's picture was a scream of different colors, but he could make out the Spider-Man mask in the center of it all.

Pete would have loved it.

He gave her the magnets so she could put it on the fridge. Let her hang it at her height as Wade fished out one of Nessa's old, scented candles. Struck a match to light it, and put it on the kitchen floor.

"You wanna watch the movie now, baby girl?"

Yeah.

She did.

**Author's Note:**

> i can only apologize.
> 
> i did cry while writing this.
> 
> please let me know what you thought in the comments/leave your curses for me there.
> 
> wahmenitu.tumblr.com


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